


Let's Do It

by DoreyG



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Yuletide 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5410361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yes,” Nightingale said. And, with a sudden grin, folded his newspaper and jumped up to his feet, “whyever not. Let’s get married.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Do It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [entropynchaos (katonahottinroof)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katonahottinroof/gifts).



“So,” I said cheerfully one morning, carefully resting my elbows on the table in between the sugar and the jam, “marriage, then.”

Nightingale very slowly looked up from his paper. A long moment passed, and then he glanced at Toby sitting innocently under the table and only watching the breakfast sausages out of the very corner of his not at all hungry eye. Another long moment, and then he slowly looked back at me, “so... We can do that now, then?”

“Legalisation passed recently,” I grinned, neglecting to mention that it’d been a few years now. For Nightingale, that _was_ recent – poor boy, like a skittish deer when it came to the modern world sometimes, “and we’ve been dating-“

“I do _wish_ you wouldn’t use that word.”

“ _Courting_ for about five years now, give or take a few months,” I just laughed at him, shook my head. He glared disapprovingly, of course, but I knew my boss-cum-boyfriend – there was definitely amusement in his eyes, a twitch of humour around his mouth, “I thought it was probably about time, considering. Your opinion?”

“It’s like you’re asking me for my opinion on the fine china, Peter,” Nightingale muttered, but allowed that twitch of humour to become a full blown smile. One of his nicer ones, that I could allow myself to be distracted by for hours if I wasn’t careful “...Yes.”

“Yes?” I asked to confirm, unprepared for the sudden burst of warm happiness in my gut.

“Yes,” Nightingale said. And, with a sudden grin, folded his newspaper and jumped up to his feet, “whyever not. Let’s get married.”

 

\--

 

“So,” Beverly said slowly, when I told her, “you’re getting married, then.”

“Yep,” I confirmed cheerfully, and took a big bite of my curry. It was one of our traditions, meeting up to gossip in various Wetherspoons all across London. To tell truth, I was glad to have a subject to distract from yet more news of Ty’s slow and inevitable takeover of London, “we’re not sure when it’s going to be yet, but...”

“I’ll clear my calendar in about a year and a half,” Beverly smirked, and took a cheerful bite of her own curry.

“...A year and a half?” I coughed, and set down my fork to better stare at her. Not that I couldn’t stare without the fork, you understand, but lessons about being polite with cutlery tend to stick, “that’s a bit pessimistic, isn’t it?”

“Peter,” Beverly said very slowly, like she was talking to an idiot, “do you actually know anything about getting married?”

“...Um,” I said, intelligently.

“Trust me, a year and a half is me being _optimistic_ ,” Beverly grinned, and kindly greeted my probably stunned expression with only a few moments of loud and heartfelt laughter, “unless you do it in the Folly, of course. Oh, man, do it in the Folly! The look on Ty’s face when she finds out will keep me warm for _years_.”

“Sometimes,” I informed her, with a truly heartfelt level of exasperation, “I wonder why you’re my best friend.”

“Because I bring light to your life,” Beverly smiled airily, and polished off her curry with the truly terrifying level of enthusiasm that she brought to basically everything she did, “and would blackmail you viciously otherwise. Hey, do you think Nightingale would mind if I wore a wetsuit to the ceremony?”

 

\--

 

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said several hours later, head in my hands as I bent over my laptop, “you have got to be _kidding_ me.”

“I wasn’t aware that I’d told a joke recently,” Nightingale, who had finally got to grips with some elements of modern slang after five years of me constantly reminding him, sighed lightly. Took a seat beside me on the sofa, “is anything wrong, Peter?”

“She was right,” I provided, perhaps a touch confusingly considering that I couldn’t bring myself to lift my head from my hands, “I thought she was just joking, I thought she was just teasing me to be a dick, but she was actually _right_. I’m going to have to buy her a beer the next time I see her. Or, even worse, a _vodka_.”

“...She?” Nightingale asked delicately, and reached out – gently extracted one of my hands from my nest of despair, until he could tug it over and brush a kiss against the knuckles. It was an old fashioned gesture, but it’d always managed to calm me somehow, “Peter, what’s wrong?”

“I told Beverly,” I said slowly, finally feeling comfortable enough to lift my head from my hands. Nightingale was watching me calmly, but with a warm amusement in his eyes that said more than any words could, “about us getting married. She was happy for us, said that she’d definitely attend, but... Then she asked how long it was going to be.”

“Ah,” Nightingale nodded. And, to his credit, managed not to look too obviously confused, “and that’s a problem, because...?”

“She said that she’d clear her calendar in a year and a half,” I sighed despairingly, and spun the laptop so Nightingale could see the screen, “and I thought she was joking, I thought things would be a lot quicker than that, but... She wasn’t. A year and a half is actually a _good_ waiting time for most places these days.”

“I see,” Nightingale offered, eyes going slightly wide as he looked at the information on the screen, “I must say, this all seems rather more complicated than it should be. But, Peter, it honestly isn’t that much of a problem.”

“Oh, you’re going to say soothing things now,” I smiled, perhaps somewhat weakly with the remains of the panic still surging through me, “I always love it when you do that.”

“I’ve waited five years to get to this point,” Nightingale smiled, and kept my hand in his - warm, soothing, like absolutely nothing was wrong in the whole wide universe, “before that, I waited an entire lifetime to meet you. I can wait a little longer, especially when the end result shall be so undeniably rewarding.”

“...You always say the sweetest things,” I snorted, perhaps a touch damply, and squeezed his hand. He only smiled at my ridiculousness, squeezed fondly in return, “and you’re right, of course. It’ll be a little annoying, sure, but worth it. And I’d wait a thousand years, if you were on the other side.”

Nightingale only smiled at me. Sweetly, calmly, like he loved me completely and utterly and wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Besides,” I said, impossibly charmed by the amount of meaning in that look. I’d never thought myself a soppy sod before, but Nightingale had a way of proving me wrong at every turn, “if we do get impatient, we can always follow another one of Bev’s suggestions and get married here. We can invite the rivers, the police, maybe a few fae...”

And Nightingale smiled, and chuckled, and... Started to look distinctly intrigued, as if determined to prove me wrong again.

 

\--

 

My mum has liked Nightingale since the moment she met him. It was kind of hilarious, really. Within five seconds of coming face to face with him her opinions changed from 'creepy older man' and 'inappropriate boss who is luring my poor child away from any chance to unleash his spawn upon the world' to 'quite nice chap' and 'possibly a better son than the one I actually gave birth to'. It was, I will cheerfully admit, quite a relief.

...And has remained quite a relief, right up to when my mum warily opened her door to me and immediately started beaming when she saw Nightingale at my side, "Thomas is here! And he's brought Peter with him."

If there's anything I've learned from life, it's to take what I get with my mum.

Dinner was nice, curry so hot that Nightingale had to blink back tears from it and a nice bottle of wine on the side, but truth be told I didn't notice it all that much. Nightingale kept casting me small, fond smiles and I kept getting distracted by the way his hand curved around his glass. It reminded me of how good it was, that I was marrying him - considering how far gone I already was, it really was the only sensible option.

"-And Anna's had another one," my mother was saying, as Nightingale finally took pity on the doubtlessly disgustingly soppy look in my eyes and decided to get things done, "not sure why, she already has one of each gender and anything more of that seems- Yes, Thomas?"

"As wonderful as this has been," Nightingale smiled. And probably meant it genuinely too, the charming sod, "I must admit that we didn't come over just to see you and sample your wonderful cooking. We have some news."

My dad, who had been listening to my mum chatter with the same fondly blank expression he'd been wearing for the past thirty years or so, finally looked up with some interest. My mum, who had been fully prepared to go on about Anna (and probably Anna's mother, and probably Anna's mother's mother too), blinked for a second and then sharply drew in air as if preparing for the very worst.

Nightingale, having noticed all of this, very calmly reached out to take my hand, "we've decided that we want to get married."

There was a long pause, as both of my parents stared at us wordlessly.

"I asked him a few days ago," I provided, squeezing Nightingale's hand in mine - he had such nice hands, yet another reason why I was absolutely head over heels for the bloke, "and he, obviously, said yes. The ceremony is going to be at the Folly, as soon as possible."

Another long pause.

"Congratulations," my dad said quietly, setting his fork down and giving me a genuine smile - a bright one, the kind I'd always longed for as a kid, "I must say, I've seen this coming for a-"

"As soon as possible!?" My mum snapped over him, throwing her fork down to the table with such force that even Nightingale started, "are you serious, Peter? How am I supposed to get all the family over? How am I supposed to send all the invites? Have you thought of all the people you'll offend, by not telling them immediately? How-!"

You take what you can get, with my mum. I sent Nightingale a wry smile, as she got into her stride, and was thrilled when he only grinned in reply.

 

\--

 

“I don’t think,” Nightingale said very carefully when we got home that night, “that the Folly can fit five hundred people in it.”

“Thank god,” I smiled in wild relief, and threw myself wearily onto the sofa. I love my parents, I really do, but I think it’s pretty normal to need a few hours decompression time after dealing with them, “how many can it fit? Under a hundred? Under fifty? _Please_ say under fifty.”

"Peter," Nightingale smirked, and allowed himself to be dragged until he was sitting next to me - so close that I could feel the warmth of his knee where it was pressed against my thigh, "am I to take it that you don't wish your mother to invite every single member of your family to our extremely lavish and over the top wedding?"

I sent him a flat look.

"I'm not hearing a denial..."

"All I want," I said slightly pleadingly, still sending him that flat look, "is to be married to you. I don't want any fuss, I don’t want any over the top celebration, I just want _that_."

Nightingale only smiled at me for a moment, so fondly that it was all I could do to keep myself from melting. Honestly, I didn't know what I'd done in a past life to deserve such a wonderful man - but it must've been something on the level of curing Polio or bringing back Doctor Who, "and on that, Peter, we are in absolute agreement. I'm sure we'll find a way to work around your mother's demands."

"We could say that the Folly is on fire," I offered optimistically, immediately soothed by the calm in his eyes, "or that Molly has started murdering people, or-"

"Something a great deal less ridiculous," Nightingale said wryly, and took my hand - squeezed it until I looked at him properly again, "the point is that we are going to have our wedding on our terms. And nothing and nobody, not even an actual fire or all the demanding relatives in the world, is going to change that."

"You..." I sighed, and was a little surprised to find myself choked up. There goes Nightingale, doing his thing yet again, "are possibly the most ridiculously romantic man in the world, you know that?"

"You have told me a few times," Nightingale smiled, and leaned in for a well-deserved kiss.

 

\--

 

"You're finally getting hitched, then?"

Lesley was the first person who had noticed my giant crush on Nightingale, not to mention the first one to encourage me into actually going for it, so it probably shouldn't have surprised me that she got ahold of the news somehow. She was Lesley, after all - ferreting out private information in a professional manner was practically her superpower.

Of course, such bursts of logic weren't exactly instinctive to me when I was lying sleepily in bed and listening to the distant sounds of Nightingale in the shower. I almost tumbled out onto the floor, barely caught myself in an inelegant scramble of limbs at the very last moment, "Lesley!"

"Congratulations," Lesley said wryly over the phone, like she saw absolutely nothing wrong with randomly calling the guy she pretty much literally stabbed in the back to congratulate him on his latest big life event, "I have to say, I've always seen this coming. Ever since the moment I first saw you two together, marriage has seemed on the cards."

" _Lesley_ -"

"Don't try to track this call, by the way. I've been assured that it's untraceable," Lesley chuckled, completely ignoring my hiss. God, it was like being at the academy all over again, "or, at least, close enough that by the time you find my location I'll be long gone. Amazing, what you can do with technology these days."

"Yeah," I said, and tried to make my tone truly withering. It probably didn't work much, I'm not exactly fantastic at scorn even when I'm not half asleep, "truly stunning. You can stalk all of your old friends, twist the knife in that little bit further..."

" _Peter_ ," Lesley sighed, and actually managed to sound disapproving. All she'd done, and she still somehow managed to make me feel like I was in the wrong, "I won't be able to attend the wedding, of course, but I want to hear all the details. Where are you getting married? Who else are you going to be inviting? What are you going to do about the _names_?"

"If you think I'm going to tell you anything-" I snapped, trying to summon up a truly appropriate level of outrage... And then paused, thought for a second, felt my eyes widen as the sound of the shower shut off, "wait, the names?"

"Oh my god," Lesley said, sounding so thrilled that for a moment it was hard to remember that we were on opposite sides now, "you still refer to him as Nightingale in your head, don't you?"

And, not for the first time, I couldn't find the words in my head to refute her.

 

\--

 

"So," I asked, when we were driving back from the station after both reporting Lesley's call and receiving a massive bollocking for it, "what are we doing about our names?"

Nightingale - no, Thomas - paused for a long second and then glanced at me askance. It was wonderful, how he could make even a severe case of side-eye look devastatingly handsome, "I... Have no idea, Peter. Personally, I've always thought that Thomas rather suits me."

"Not that," I scolded, and tried to look stern. It probably came across as well as my attempt at scorn had - but it was the _thought_ that counted, "I mean our last names, after we get married."

"Well, that makes a little more sense," Nightingale - _Thomas_ , my future _husband_ \- allowed, and went back to giving most of his attention to the road, "still not much sense, though. Is that really an issue?"

"It's not an issue," I reassured him, but couldn't help but thoughtfully bite my lip, "it's just..."

"I assumed that we'd keep our own names," _Thomas_ mused, glanced at me briefly - his eyes lingering gratifying on where I was biting my lip, "it seemed the easiest option, not to mention the most traditional in cases such as ours. I mean, imagine all the paperwork involved if I had to change my name. Ninety years of forms, made highly-"

"I could change my name," I said quietly, before I was even aware that I'd opened my mouth.

" _What_?" And Thomas - my darling future husband, the love of my life - almost crashed into a lamp post and had to stamp his foot on the brake in the most unsafe manner that I'd ever seen a driver behave in before my eyes, "I mean, uh, could you please repeat that?"

"I could change my name," I repeated, a little louder, and couldn't help a grin at the absolutely flabbergasted look on his face, "Peter Nightingale-Grant, I think. Bit of a big change, but then so was the magic and look at how well that turned out. I mean I got a house, a husband, the ability to set fire to random bits of air..."

"Peter..." Thomas said softly, wonderingly - and then gave a brilliant smile, reached across the car to drag me in for an ever so sweet kiss, "and you say I'm the romantic one. Come on, let's go home so I can swoon in the _proper_ manner."

Swooning in the proper manner had, on several occasions before, meant incredible blowjobs. I grinned, and allowed him to throw the car into drive again.

 

\--

 

"Peter," Thomas asked in front of the old building, as we paused hand in hand to light our candles and examine the architecture, "are you sure about this?"

" _Thomas_ ," I said, as patiently as I could, and squeezed his hand gently - since it seemed pretty clear that he needed a reminder that he wasn't imposing on the world just by existing, "of course I'm sure. We've told everybody else, after all, it's only fair."

"Yes, but..." Thomas bit his lip for a long second, gave me a slightly bashful smile. It was really unfair, how he looked when he did such things - it was all I could do to hold onto his hand and manage a smile in return, "we can hardly actually tell them anything, since they're all dead. And they can hardly actually react to it, also due to previously established lack of life. Really, I'm afraid this is all foolish indulgence and a complete waste of time."

"The only thing that's foolish is you trying to talk yourself out of it," I reassured him, and raised his hand to my lips this time - trying his old trick of pressing a calming kiss to the knuckles, "it's maybe a little indulgent, but there's nothing wrong with that. And it's _certainly_ not a waste. If you need to do this, I'm by your side all the way."

"I'm not so sure it's a need..." Thomas said weakly, so used to denying himself, only to trail off at the look I levelled at him. He paused for a moment, before managing a smile again, "but it is a rather intense want. You always manage to make me feel better, Peter, I'm not quite sure how."

"Magic," I grinned cheerfully, and dragged him forward before he could do more than roll his eyes at me with a great deal of feeling, "come on, we might as well get on with it."

The place was much as it had been the last time we'd visited, several years ago and a little further away from being wed. There were perhaps a few more cobwebs, a little more dust coating the walls - but largely it was just as dark and sad as it had been then, a monument to days long ago. I couldn't make sense of it, the corridors were so labyrinth I half expected a minotaur to jump out at any moment, but Thomas strode forward straight and true. Before long we were exactly where we'd been the last time, standing in front of an ancient and stretching wall of long-dead names.

...And I've never been gladder that mind-reading is just an untested concept in bad sci-fi, for Thomas looked sad enough as it was. He cast me a long, morosely thoughtful look and then turned back to the wall with his shoulders firmed, "hello, again. You'll remember Peter, of course, I brought him along to meet you last time."

The wall, as expected, did not answer. I shifted on my heels, tried for a smile that wasn't completely awkward and overawed.

"Peter and I... Well, you are long beyond the need for old-fashioned delicacy now. Peter and I are in love, and will soon be married," but luckily Thomas was there, to bravely straighten his shoulders and distract me, "you cannot attend the wedding, obviously, but I thought you should know. We are very happy together, and I am thrilled to be spending the rest of my life with him."

A long pause. I stared at him, with an odd warmth in my eyes. He glanced back at me, a genuine smile upon his lips.

"...I am thrilled, for the first time in decades," as he finished quietly, and turned back to the wall with a new strength in his stance, "you do not have to approve, you are probably unable to approve, but I hope you would've liked him. He's the best man I've ever known, and he does us proud every single day. I- that is all."

"Thomas," I said softly, unexpectedly touched.

"Rest well, wherever you may be," and Thomas turned back to me, that same wetness in his eyes as he smiled, "come, my love. Let's go home."

 

\--

 

Sex with Thomas was always good, and that was the kind of understatement that I deserved to be jailed for. Sex with Thomas was a wild, rip-roaring ride that left both of us gasping. Sex with Thomas was the kind of thing that made me blush if I saw any little old ladies the next day, from the very memory of the filth of it. Sex with Thomas-

Well, good really was too small a word really. Great, would probably be better. World shakingly amazing, would probably be the most accurate.

That night it was especially so. I rolled off Thomas, my limbs covered in sweat, and let out a long huff of air. Beneath me, he stirred feebly for a moment and then let out a contented hum. As per usual, neither of us could quite remember the purpose of words for several minutes afterwards.

“Whoa,” and, also as per usual, when I did remember words they were most definitely of the ridiculous sort, “I swear you’re getting better at that.”

“Well,” Thomas replied, eyes still closed and expression still stunningly blissed out, “I do practice.”

“You can say that again,” I purred fondly, and leaned in for another kiss – a languid one this time, slow and unhurried and so wonderful that I half felt like writing a sonnet to it “...Hey, can I ask you something?”

He heaved a sigh at that. But, being possibly the most wonderful and tolerant and handsome man that I’d ever met, still cracked open an eyeball – stared at me with that old exasperated fondness that’d probably been part of the reason I’d got into bed with him in the first place, “as long as it’s not a question that requires deep thought...”

“What you said earlier,” I blurted, and was treated to the sight of him suspiciously opening his other eye to take me in, “about how I make you proud every day, and about how I’m the best man you’ve ever known. Did you actually... Mean any of that?”

“Well,” Thomas huffed, and then smiled at me so brightly that it was like the sun coming up. Like suddenly getting gifted a million pounds. Like getting a new Star Trek show in the original universe. The best thing in the whole wide world, basically, “luckily that’s a question that requires no thought at all. I meant every single word, Peter, and I will stand by them for the rest of my life.”

“I- oh,” I breathed, and could only give him a trembling smile of my own – a small thing, next to his, but hopefully one that carried across all the feeling within me, “just so you know, you just pulled _way_ ahead in the ridiculously romantic Olympics.”

“You are, of course, aware that you’re being utterly ridiculous?” Thomas sighed. But smiled again, and pulled me so surely down that I couldn’t have resisted even if I’d wanted to.

 

\--

 

“Location booked?”

“Since the location is where we’re currently standing and having words...” Thomas, mercifully, just about resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Smiled at me instead, “I’m sure I can find it within myself to allow myself to get married to the love of my life.”

“Har de har,” I stared at him flatly, continued pacing. Hey, perhaps my mum’s planning genes did come down to me after all, “you’re sure we have the licence?”

“For several years, Peter,” Thomas reassured me, and continued to resist the urge to roll his eyes. I’m marrying a saint, a wonderful guy close to divinity who I must’ve performed wonders to deserve, “It’s not been often used, but I can assure you that the paperwork is all in absolute order.”

“ _Excellent_ ,” I grinned at him for that, even through my stress. Continued pacing, yeah – but, hey, you can’t have everything, “and the invites? Have they all been sent out?”

“To under fifty people,” Thomas smiled, and stepped forwards – captured my hands in his own, and forced me to stop pacing a rather single-minded hole in the floor, “as long as you’re still absolutely sure that you’re fine with having your mother refuse to speak to you for several months afterwards, of course.”

“Eh, she’ll have forgiven me in time for my birthday,” I grinned, and stilled for him. Watched Thomas’ eyes light up, as he realized the effect he had on me, “and I’ve applied to change my name, which means... We’re going to get married tomorrow.”

“We’re going to get married tomorrow,” Thomas smiled, reached out to take my hands between his – warm, soothing, so loving and hopeful that I honestly didn’t want to remember a time where I hadn’t had him in my life. It was ages ago now, after all, and had obviously been a vastly inferior period anyway, “as long as you’re sure, of course?”

“Thomas Nightingale,” I said fondly, and squeezed his hands tightly in return, “I can assure you that I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And as he smiled, and leaned in to kiss me, nothing had ever been truer.


End file.
